The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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' Myght I have spoken wyth hys dere brethren
Or with eyther of them twayne, To show to them what him befell,
My hart were out of payne.'
CI Cloudesley walked a lytle beside,
Looked under the grene wood lynde, He was ware of his wife and chyldren three,
Full wo in herte and mynde.
' Welcome, wyfe,' then sayde Wyllyam,
' Under this trysty tre: I had wende yesterday, by swete saynt John,
Thou sholdest me never have se.'—
cur ' Now well is me that ye be here,
My harte is out of wo.'— ' Dame,' he sayde, ' be mery of chere.
And thanke my brethren two.'
civ ' Herof to speake,' said Adam Bell,
' I-wis it is no bote : The meate, that we must supp withall,
It runneth yet fast on fote.'
cv Then went they downe into a launde.
These noble archars all thre ; Eche of them slew a hart of greece.
The best they cold there se.
launde] forest-park.          of greece] of grease, fat.
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